À L’Œuvre
by kamikumai
Summary: Albus Severus Potter is not what everyone thinks he is. In fact, if anything, he's a Snake in Lion's skin. He doesn't, however, plan to remain that way, not with his time at Hogwarts just about to begin... Warning: Eventual Slash. Albus/Scorpius.
1. Chapter 1

**Word from the Author:** I thought I'd throw this concept out here and see how it goes. An exploration of Albus Severus Potter, his life and exploits.

**Warning: **I'm not sure I'd describe it as Ginny!bashing, per se. But for the purposes of Albus' characterisation, he's not overly fond of his mother. My apologies to anyone who feels offended by any such depictions. However, since Harry had to go and be the 'Golden Boy' in the end, after all, I feel this fic is cosmically justified for the rectification of natural balance. Harry did his bit, now it's Albus' turn to take the world by storm...!

Also, _slash_. Of the Albus/Scorpius variety, in fact. However, as far as I can see, it will likely be a slow and steady development thereof. Anyway.

**Disclaimer:** No infringement was intended upon the intellectual property of J.K.Rowling. This should in no way be construed as an illegal appropriation, just think of it as 'borrowing,' if you must. Thank you.

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À L'Œuvre

**Chapter 1**

_Impressions_

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If there was one thing Albus was most curious about in the world, it would have to be his father. Given who his father was though, this probably mightn't have seemed like the most curious of things to be interested in, if only because Harry Potter was, indeed, an enigma to the Wizarding World at large. And if there was one thing the Wizarding World was not big on, it was being left in the dark. But that was exactly what the most famous Wizard of their time had done. His father had gradually, so slowly most hadn't even realized what he'd been doing until it was too late, withdrawn himself as much as possible from the public eye, so as to live a quiet life with his family. And to the best of his ability, over time, he had managed to do so.

However, this 'enigma' that his father allegedly was wasn't what fueled Albus Severus Potter's curiosity, not at all, because in truth, he probably knew his father far better than anyone else. What was of interest to him though was why his father expended so much energy trying to pretend, going out of his way to uphold this image that the world had made for him, the one he supposedly detested. Then again, based on what he knew of his father, Albus could understand, at least to a certain extent, why he his father would try to do so. His father hated to disappoint the people he cared for, far more than he resented the added, unwanted attention it oft brought him. Still, the need to hide his true self, simply for the sake of hiding, was something that Albus couldn't quite comprehend. However, when he thought about it, there were also certain aspects of _himself _that Albus didn't understand yet either, so he was, for the moment, willing to wait and see what knowledge time would bring him.

If there was one thing Albus was immensely grateful for, it would have to be that he was his father's son. Albus was proud to have been born a Potter, even more so because out of all the Potter children, he had bred truest to the line, right down to the piercing eyes of emerald that had originally come from his grandmother, Lily Potter, née Evans.

Although his father had no pictures of himself when he'd been Albus' age, Wizarding or Muggle, Albus had been granted the privilege of viewing memories of his father's younger years in the penseive that had once belonged to his own namesake. If not for the scar, and the quality of Albus' apparel compared to what his father had been forced to wear, cast-offs that weren't worthy of his much adored father, Albus could've been looking into a mirror, a surprisingly detailed, panoramic mirror, that is.

And unlike the other Potter children, there were a few other traits that Albus had inherited which seemed to have been lost on the others.

_Parseltongue_, the serpents' language, beautiful and deadly, sharp but oh so sweet to hear and comprehend. It held such depth compared to the restraining tongue of humans and Wizards alike. Every single sibilant hiss that escaped held a wealth of meaning. It was music and it was song. It seeped beneath the skin and slithered through one's blood. And yet, this was not something Albus had ever told anyone. Not even his father. He wasn't ashamed of his gift. Shame wasn't what held his tongue, it was this unbidden instinct that rose from within him and which told him that any card he could secret away and hold up his sleeve had the potential to become a trump.

In this too was the other thing that Albus had inherited, but unlike his father, he had embraced – his Slytherin side.

It made for an interesting dynamic, Albus thought, whenever he and his older brother, James, named for their grandfather, interacted. Though perhaps interacted was too kind a term for it. More often than not, the two of them in a room together resulted in insults exchanged and, on the rare occasion, fists. The latter always, of course, being started by James. It was only once his brother lashed out at him that Albus would take it upon himself to defend. Never once had he stooped so low as to begin any such brawling himself, to do so would be beneath him, according to his Slytherin code.

Thinking about it, most of their arguments stemmed from exactly this point. Somehow, in spite of all the barriers and masks Albus assembled, James was always ready to accuse him of being a Slytherin. And what's a Gryffindor to do, really, when somebody says anything as insulting as _that_?

Deny it, of course, which everyone other than James was always ready to believe. When anyone else looked at him they saw obedience, quietude, calm and self-containment, all impressions created within their own minds for their own purposes, instead of seeing the truth. In reality, what they should have seen was the poise, the smooth surface that lies about its hidden depths, the tightly controlled masks or the darkness that separated him from others. But because they couldn't, his protests that he wasn't a Slytherin, _damn it_, were easily accepted. It was as simple as them seeing what they wanted to see, when in fact Albus was a Slytherin through and through, ready to manipulate by pretending to emulate the mildly distasteful traits of a Gryffindor by 'hating' all that the noble House of Slytherin stood for.

He hadn't always known what to call it, this side of himself. When he was younger he had assumed that everyone thought like him, subtly and with ulterior motives. It had made him a very cautious child, unlike his brash and brazen big brother. It wasn't until some time passed that Albus realized he was different, not nearly so trusting as either his older brother or his baby sister. He was always well liked by other children that his father invited over to play with them, but he never really felt any kinship to them beyond a passing sense of acquaintance.

In truth, it could be said that there was a certain darkness that shadowed Albus. It was what encouraged him to linger on the outskirts and observe before ever taking action. Every move he made was calculated and precise. No wasted movement, no excesses, nothing that left gaps or openings, unless of course he chose for them to exist.

Such was the case with Quidditch. Their father had been adamant that both James and he learn the sport, to keep fit and active and all that. The only reason he participated was because it made his father happy, and also allowed for more time spent with him. Despite the fact that their father was one of the best Seekers of the age, he always made Albus and James play each other. Friendly rivalry between siblings, Albus recalled his father once referring to it as. In reality though, it was hardly that. Albus always lost. Or rather, perhaps it would be more appropriate to say, he always let James win. The bragging that resulted was more amusing than anything else, because in all truth it was empty, meaningless, based not on actual prowess but merely on Albus' own whims, and so Albus let it continue. Because he knew that it would be far worse to beat James, given that he would then have to put up with the constant whining for a rematch. It had happened once, and that was how Albus had learnt his lesson early on. As a result, he nipped that annoyance in the butt by handicapping himself massively. Oddly enough, by doing so, in almost every pursuit, it actually helped Albus in the long run improve on his already existing skills – his ability as a Seeker only being one such example.

Albus knew already that in this he also took far more after his father than anyone else. Despite Albus having been a well-nourished child, his body had for some reason decided to simply ignore all the incentives his father had tried to provide for him, and as such he remained, much like his father had been and to some extent still was, small but sleek… and fast, both on foot and on broom, as well as with a wand.

While, of course, they weren't allowed to practice magic, what with Lily still far too young to do anything beyond dream about going to Hogwarts, at least for another two long years, James having just finished his first year, and Albus himself only set to begin once the holidays were over, all the Potter children were well versed in all aspects of the magical education that didn't actually include the use of magic. Wand movements were one such aspect, among others.

Only in the privacy of his solitude did Albus allow himself to be his best. Albus knew that his father was also reluctant to let others see his power, if only because, even now, Harry Potter was afraid of being judged on the merit of the lightning that could be seen, etched as it was into the skin of his forehead. This was one way in which Albus and his father differed however. Not only was Albus' forehead unblemished, he also didn't need a scar to tell him he was powerful. Unlike the Boy Who Lived, who had grown up for the most part completely ignorant of his true worth and potential, Albus had known of his power his entire life, had felt the magic coursing through his veins, bubbling up and over from his core.

There was greatness to be found within him, he knew, and some day, in the not too distant future, it would be achieved. Of that, Albus was certain.

ۍ

To Be Continued…

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****Another Word from the Author: **Well, there endeth the first chapter. I hope you enjoyed the beginnings of what I imagine if I continue this would be another of my freakishly long fics, that just keep on bloody growing on me. Especially as I have many, many ideas to explore through this medium. So, please, by all means, if you enjoyed this and would like to see it continued, do not hesitate to say so.

Humbly,

Kamikumai.


	2. Chapter 2

**Word from the Author:** Alrighty then. Some pretty positive responses there. How about we keep going, yeah? XD

**Disclaimer:** As stated in chapter 1.

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À L'Œuvre

**Chapter 2**

_Gatherings_

ۍ

Albus sat quietly by his father's side and watched as people milled about the place. It wasn't the largest of gatherings, after all Albus' father wasn't the most social of people anymore, but nevertheless he was well loved… and he _had_ married a Weasley, which more or less accounted for half of the people attending.

Watching with sharp eyes, he looked up from where he sat, noting the look on Ginny Weasley's face as she gazed adoringly at her husband. The way she stood simpering made Albus' stomach turn. She hung on her husband's every word, looking at him as if he'd hung the moon, but then again, Albus readily admitted, most people looked at Harry Potter that way.

When she turned to him, he smiled magnanimously, ready to play the part of the obedient son. Ginny Weasley loved him, if only, Albus thought disparagingly, because he looked just like his father. Even in his mind he couldn't bear to grant her the name 'Potter,' not when his father had married so far beneath him.

It wasn't that Albus had anything against the Weasleys; he just had trouble conceiving as to why his father, who could have had anyone he wanted, would have chosen _her_, when she was so incredibly average. Average in appearance, average in intelligence, even her magic was nothing more than _average_. If she had been ugly, stupid and a squib, he might've believed his father had married her out of pity, but as it was, this farce was disgusting, _especially_ as Albus knew the truth. Still, he continued to play the game his father had set in motion, if only because Albus knew it was possibly the only thing keeping his father sane.

But because of the woman his father had married, because of the fact that she had for intents and purposes contributed to their current existence, there were some days that Albus would look at his sister, and pray to any of the Gods that would listen, that she'd grow to be a true Potter, and not a Ginny. Her coloration did not bode well for her, in Albus' opinion, but her features were more like the delicate hue of his own. Only time would tell. He still loved her though, for if nothing else she was a crafty little thing, mischievous and wild. If anything Albus would say that she had a bit of both his and James' personalities mixed in there, and as she grew older Albus found her far more easy to relate to than James had ever been, and quite possibly ever would be.

Albus nodded easily, in all the appropriate places, as he only half-listened to the woman who had birthed him. If anything, Parseltongue had taught him how to read the language of others based purely on tone. Anytime Ginny began on such a spiel as she was now he would effortlessly tune out all but the barest essentials he needed to act in a way mildly indicative of attention.

If he could help it, he very rarely spoke. He found that when people didn't expect him to answer, they would more often than not answer for him, precisely as she was doing in this very instance.

"You are enjoying yourself, aren't you, Al?" There was a moment's pause before she simply continued, "What am I saying? Of course you are! Here, let me take your cup, I'll bring you another one; just don't let your sister know, ok? Wouldn't want to have her think I'm spoiling you…" And there was the childish laugh that grated against his nerves and made the hairs of his nape stand on end. Wordlessly, he let go as she pried his cup from his hand, and sauntered off through the crowd. With a sigh, he closed his eyes, blocking out the sight, and instead leaned his head against his father's knee.

A warm, reassuring hand came to rest upon his hair, "Alright, Al?" His father's voice rumbled. He loved when his father called him Al. He hated it when she did, in that insipid voice that she had. When his father spoke, he commanded attention, completely and utterly, and Albus was more than happy to give it to him.

"Of course, Father," Albus murmured contentedly as that hand carded gently through his always tousled hair.

Albus could hear the smile in his father's voice as he replied, "Good. Wouldn't want you to be bored." His father paused before enquiring, "Are you sure you don't want to go play with the others?"

Albus turned his head slightly to look up at his father solemnly, "Can't I stay here with you?"

Harry ruffled his son's hair, before grinning. "So long as you're sure."

"I'm sure."

And just like that they both relaxed into comfortable silence.

Albus allowed himself a small smile as his father continued to run his fingers lightly through his hair. While he usually found most tactile contact distasteful, he always enjoyed the physical affection his father showed him, perhaps because he knew just how much being allowed such contact meant to his father.

Ever since he was young, Albus had avoided touch as much as was possible. For him, allowing someone within his personal space signified several things. Trust being the foremost, and being the Slytherin at heart that he was, Albus found himself hard-pressed to trust few beyond himself. His father was quite likely the ultimate exception to that rule. Albus trusted his father implicitly. If ever he were hurt or upset the one he would call for was his father. And for as long as he'd been able to pronounce the word, he had called his father thus, whereas, James had always seemed to prefer to call their father, 'Dad.'

On several occasions his father had tried to encourage him to do the same, but each and every time Albus had steadfastly refused. It wasn't until much later, only recently in fact, that his father had thought to ask _why_ Albus wouldn't call him 'Dad' or 'Daddy' or something to that effect.

The explanation had come easily enough.

_"I love you, Father," Albus began, "but I also respect you, more than anyone else in the whole wide world." His arms came out to demonstrate this fact. "I can't call you anything less than you deserve..." Albus trailed off, hoping that his father understood what he was trying to say._

_His father had given him an odd look though, a strange furrowing of his brow, a small gnawing of his lower lip, before asking, "Al, why don't you call Ginny 'Mother'?"_

_Albus' expression shuttered for a moment, before he spoke slowly, calmly, "We rarely talk. I don't usually need to call her anything."_

_The odd look increased for a second, before smoothing out entirely. "I see," his father said._

_Silence filled his father's study, until his father cleared his throat, and changed the subject. "I take it you're looking forward to Hogwarts?"_

_"Oh, yes, Father. Very much so. I can't wait to be able to do magic!"_

If his father found his thirst for knowledge strange in one as young as he, he made no comment on the matter. If his father never again brought up Albus' feelings toward Ginny Weasley, who had provided half of his biological information and nothing more, Albus paid it no heed.

There were times, however, that Albus wished his father hadn't married Aunt Hermione instead, if he'd been that desperate to have children. At least that way they'd have had the added benefit of a significantly increased intelligence, not that anyone could call any of the Potter children stupid.

Albus also had to admit that when Aunt Hermione made the effort, she could be quite stunning. It mattered little to him that she was of Muggle birth, she'd proved her aptitude as a Witch a million times over, and she was one of the very few Albus had ever known with whom he could hold a proper conversation.

Not many people would peg Albus as a talker given his habitual bouts of silence, but given the right incentive, such as the fountain of knowledge that seemed to be stored within his Aunt's brain, he could babble to his heart's content, voicing all the thoughts and questions, all the enquiries he wished to make, all the theories he himself speculated upon.

He similarly got on splendidly with Rose, Aunt Hermione's daughter. She had evidently inherited her mother's wit, and had had plenty of opportunity to further develop her sharp mind. They had wonderful arguments, in both English and French. While Albus referred to Rose's mother as 'Aunt Hermione' and her father as 'Uncle Ron,' he did so not because they were _technically _related by blood, but rather because it was the Weasley family who had more or less adopted his father as one of their own. Albus also thought this reflected a bit oddly on Ginny, given that his father should've been something more like a _brother_ to her. It served no purpose to place any blame on his father, however. He already knew all about the reasons for which he had married her, and even though he could see that his father was partially responsible, it was far easier for Albus to forgive him, given the circumstances, than it was for him to extend such a courtesy to _her_.

Still, the fact that the Weasleys were family, meant that Albus, as well as his siblings, had grown up spending quite a bit of time with Uncle Bill and his wife, _Tante_ Fleur, and as such had been forced to learn French.

For Albus, it had turned out to be quite a pleasure despite his initial reluctance, and he found himself taking to the language with ease, unlike James who, while not particularly bad at it, wasn't overly fond of speaking the language.

Albus thought again that his aptitude in this might've been due to his Parseltongue abilities. He knew for one that the Latin incantations for spells were exceedingly easy to remember once he'd spoken them using serpentine phonetics. This made Albus question whether it had been the same for his father. He wondered at this even more so if only because his father didn't seem to possess any sort of gift for languages other than English.

Nevertheless, it wasn't something he'd ever had the chance to query his father about, unless he wanted to reveal that he himself could speak the language of snakes…

Sitting silently, Albus realized that maybe there was a way around this. It was something he'd always pondered about, and if he asked about such a thing, it would seem to imply a lack of capacity on his behalf.

In short, all he had to do was ask his father whether anyone could be _taught_ Parseltongue. Even if it couldn't be done, it would have innocently opened up the topic for discussion, and his father knew all too well Albus' curiosity once whetted was hard to quench. And if it _could be _taught, then maybe he'd have a place to begin…

Excited by the prospects, Albus hung his head forward, blocking his expression from the view of those in the room. Hidden, he let the smirk that had been lurking just beneath the surface break free.

He couldn't wait 'til everyone left. He'd still probably have to wait until the morning, if not later the next day, given that at the tender age of 11, he'd likely be sent to bed before all their guests took their leave. It was certainly something to look forward to however.

Content that he'd finally figured out a way to get around revealing his well hidden talent, Albus let his mind wander over a variety of other issues he'd been considering lately.

It was with great disappointment that he realized that quite a few people would be staying over, for various durations, particularly the immediate family, which meant he wouldn't be able to speak to his father privately for some time.

Irritated, but determined to not let it show outwardly, Albus breathed deeply, reminding himself that he had all the time in the world. There was time yet before he would be heading off for his first year at Hogwarts; plenty of time to interrogate his father on his knowledge of Albus' favourite language.

And if there was one thing that a snake understood best, it was when to strike.

ۍ

To Be Continued…

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****Another Word from the Author: **Just another chapter down. Let me know what you thought, yes?

Until next time,

Kamikumai.


	3. Chapter 3

**Word from the Author:** Let's see. This is the last predominantly introspective chapter that I had planned. As of next chapter you'll be seeing a bit more interaction between characters, and as a result (_yay!_) dialogue. So, please do look forward to it.

**Disclaimer:** As stated in chapter 1.

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À L'Œuvre

**Chapter 3**

_Expectations_

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As it turned out, most of Albus' close family had decided to stay on for at least two weeks before heading back to their respective places of residency. That left Albus with a month and a half or so to gather as much information as he could before he'd be heading off to begin his schooling at Hogwarts, not that there wouldn't be plenty of various other resources available to him once there. Nevertheless, Albus envisioned that it would probably take him at least a little while to become familiar with any such resources.

Apart from that, it was also decided that while everyone was here they might as well make a joint trip to Diagon Alley. And although both Albus and Rose had already received their letters that was only due to the nature of them, what with them being their formal acceptance letters to Hogwarts School Witchcraft and Wizardry, all the others who were of age to attend Hogwarts were still currently awaiting theirs. As such, the adult determined it best to wait until the rest of the letters arrived and only then would the venture be undertaken. After all, given the number that would be going, keeping track of everyone was bound to be quite a task.

Still, if there was only one thing that Albus was truly excited about, it was the thought of receiving his wand.

He'd dreamed of it, imagined it, the feel, the size, the core, the _power_. He'd visualized a thousand different wands, all appropriate, but none perfect. Not yet, anyway. But he knew it was out there, waiting for him, calling to him, beckoning him forth to take it and use it to its utmost potential. And he would. He'd never been surer of anything in his life. To some extent, there were other things that sometimes Albus felt a strange certainty about. In those cases, however, the feeling was vague at best, and inexplicable in a way – the sort of surety that isn't quite knowledge so much as it is feeling. Then again, some epistemologists might argue that feeling was a sort of knowledge, but still.

Generally speaking, Albus supposed that most people would describe his feelings in this regard as 'hunches.' Unlike most, however, Albus placed a great deal of trust in his instincts. After all, if he couldn't believe in himself, what could he believe in? What, then, could he trust?

It was exactly one such feeling that welled up within him every time his Uncle Ron seemed inclined to match-make him with Rose. Uncle Ron was forever suggesting that the two of them would someday make a fine couple, a formidable pairing. And while Albus acknowledged that the pair of them, in their own rights, probably would've done so, there were many reasons why he simply couldn't imagine them as more than the excellent team that they already made.

Albus hoped that Rose would be joining him in Slytherin. He was, of course, completely and unmovably certain that in Slytherin he would find his place. He also knew it wise not to let this on to any of his relatives. Not yet anyway. In fact, he fully intended to milk the experience for all its worth, when the time finally came for his Sorting.

As such, for the moment, he would have to feign shock and horror at the prospect. Nevertheless, if Rose were with him, that might make a lot of things quite a bit easier. It would lighten the amount of unwanted attention given to him by the rest of his family members who appeared to be working under the false impression that he was somehow meant to be a Gryffindor. Then again, as far as guises went, Albus wasrather gifted – he hadn't given them any reason, _yet_, to imagine him as anything but.

On the other hand, Albus already knew that Rose was worried that she might end up in Slytherin. When she'd confided in him about this, he'd nearly bitten right through his tongue at her words. _End up _in Slytherin, indeed. No one simply ended up in Slytherin. You either belonged, or you didn't. And if you didn't, then you never would. It was their way, cautious and selective. In some ways, yes, perhaps a little bit elitist, but it was required of them, with every accusation that had been heaped upon their House over time, the cumulative weight of which would've crushed them, no doubt, had they not banded together as they did; Slytherins supporting Slytherins.

In a way, Albus planned to change all that. For now, however, he would still have to bide his time, and gather those of import around him. It would be slow, but undoubtedly a pleasurable process. And Albus fully intended to enjoy every excruciating minute of it. He had no doubts that it would be difficult, especially for those who were already set in their ways.

_Do not consider painful that which is good for you._

Always a favourite citation of his, _Euripides_. It was what had gotten him through every hard and unpleasant moment in his life. So long as he thought of the benefits, all that was to be gained, Albus knew he could endure anything.

Rose, however, seemed to have forgotten this from their early studies of Greek drama and tragedy. Albus was often amazed at what he considered to be the fragility of his cousin; if only because it appeared in the strangest ways, if only because she was otherwise so incredibly resilient.

Like her mother, Rose was stubborn, filled with unwavering determination when she set her mind on something. It was the getting her mind set that Albus found to be the problem. She was too easily influenced by the opinions of others, James in particular.

Albus knew Rose worried about what her father, Ronald Weasley would say, should she find herself in the snake's pit. After all, Albus supposed Rose had reason to be concerned given that Uncle Ron was well known for feeling no lost love towards Slytherins as a whole. However, Albus also knew that even more than that, she was terrified that James would hate her for it. That he would look at her and be incapable of thinking anything more than _Slytherin_, before dismissing her entirely.

And therein lay part of the reason for Albus' hunch. Despite the fact that marriage between first cousins didn't seem to be overly much of an issue in the Wizarding World, probably due to centuries of purist influences regarding the preservation of traditional Wizarding lines, Albus knew that there would be no such match between he and Rose. Because as far as he knew, she was already very much infatuated with his older brother, and that was why she never allowed herself her Slytherin side, never felt she could let such a thing grow within her and still be worthy.

In that sense, Albus sometimes felt disgust for her, too. Because there was so much potential, so much worth, and if push came to shove, Albus knew that he would do all within his power to make her happy, even if it was simply in aiding her in her pursuit of James, who seemed to suspect not a single thing…

But that in turn, Albus thought, was only to be expected of James. He was somewhat clueless about things such as this. Though some might simply reason that it was Albus who appeared to be by far too aware for someone his age. As it was, Albus himself would've argued that any such interest on his part was due to the intricately, innate manipulations that seemed to be at work in every human interaction. It was precisely from the complexity of it all that his attention and intrigue regarding such matters was born. More often than not, he found himself utterly fascinated by the plots and subplots and counterplots that seemed to underline each move and step that every single human being made towards, about, around and over each other.

As for the rest of the reason why Albus was sure that his future would not hold any such matches as those proposed by his family, it was simple.

Albus, at the tender age of 11, already had his eyes set on another.

Someone he had never even met.

If anyone were to ask about this connection that he believed already existed between them, he doubted he would reply with anything so clichéd, so trite, as destiny or fate. No, this _connection_ of his went far beyond that.

Albus remembered another quote, one that seemed so incredibly appropriate to this, this feeling, this peculiar _knowing_.

_Parce que c'était lui, parce que c'était moi._

That was the only way he could think to explain it; it simply _was_. Or at least it was so on Albus' part. As for his other, if it wasn't thus, then all Albus had to do was make it so. And he had every intention of doing just that. He would use all that he was, everything within him, to bring this bond to fruition.

It was no problem at all, that he'd not yet met this person, because Albus knew he would and soon. Very, very soon. All he had to do was be patient.

It was simply a matter of time and then the boy with whom he was already, completely and utterly enthralled would be his. Of this, Albus was certain.

ۍ

To Be Continued…

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**Another Word from the Author:** The quote mentioned in French by Albus near the end is taken from a fairly famous _essai_ written by _Montaigne_. The quote in full goes as follows:

Si on me presse de dire pourquoi je l'aimais, je sens que cela ne se peut exprimer qu'en répondant: «Parce que c'était lui, parce que c'était moi.» --_Michel de Montaigne (1533 - 1592)_

The first time I read the quote, it moved me to tears. For those who don't read French, the best I could translate it is as follows: If I were pressed to say why I loved him, I feel that it could be expressed, only by replying, "Because it was him, because it was me."

Until next time,

Kamikumai.


	4. Chapter 4

**Word from the Author:** To everyone who has been following my stories, my deepest and most heartfelt apologies that I've not been more productive in the last... (._.') forever. I've been abroad studying, amongst many other things recently and as such have been filled with plot bunnies and ideas for existing stories, but not much by way of time to actually realize a lot of these flights of fancy, that perhaps upon my return I shall be able to gleefully share with you.

For the moment though, I'd just like to say, thank you for your patience, and I hope you enjoy wherever this story leads us!

**Disclaimer:** As stated in chapter 1.

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**Chapter 4**

_Disturbances_

ۍ

Time seemed to drag on unendingly during the weeks that followed. Albus found the noise and the bustle to be unspeakably irritating. Especially since every time he tried to find the peace and solitude to continue his reading in their library _someone_ just had to come and interrupt him, completely in spite, if not out of spite, of the fact that when they would do so he'd still sit silently and try his best to ignore them.

It was a sad fact of life. Albus had learnt from a very young age that even if you didn't respond and become a part of the escalation, ignoring people really didn't work as well as people claimed it did. For the most part, Albus found that avoiding people was the best course of action. Only it was increasingly hard to do so in one's own home, particularly when the people staying over treated it as though it were their own, barging in, not bothering to knock, or even just walking in regardless of the fact that more often than not a door_ was closed for a reason_.

It meant that even holing himself up in his room didn't work. Albus couldn't wait to get away if it meant he could finally find enough quiet to at the very least hear himself think, which was more than he could hope for here at the Manor, what with people still hovering en masse all about the place.

Slamming _Mutatis Mutandis: An Age of Prescriptive Change_ shut, Albus stood and glared at James, who was casually sitting across from him, tilting precariously backwards on his chair, and flicking balls of squished parchment at him.

"Could you be any more immature?" Albus finally hissed. "Or wasteful?" He added taking in the wrecked carnage of paper spread out around them.

"Could you be any more of a _snake_?" James snapped in reply.

Albus remained silent.

"All you ever do is read," James whined. "Holidays are meant for lazing about, enjoying the sunshine, the fresh air, the _no homework_."

"For one, I haven't started school yet, so technically, this isn't a holiday," Albus explained clinically, before prodding, "And two, as far as I'm aware, I'm pretty sure there's a pile of summer homework waiting for you. Correct?"

"'Che," James grunted morosely, before brightening to say, "Sure you don't want to do it for me?"

Albus raised an eyebrow in response. "And what? Be accused of cheating once I finally get to school and my work bears an uncanny resemblance to your own?"

"Aunt 'Mione used to do it all the time for Dad and Uncle Ron," James wheedled.

"Last I checked, I'm not Aunt Hermione," Albus rejoined, before brushing smooth his robes, which he tended to wear as Muggles did, in a style similar to that of a jacket or long coat. Albus paused momentarily before continuing, "I did tag all the relevant information in your texts though."

"Really?" James chirped, eyes lighting up. "Sweet!"

"But," Albus warned, "I had Father make me this lot specially." Albus watched his brother eye him, having a hard time repressing the smirk straining to break free.

"Specially, how?" James demanded, suspicious.

"They'll only last forty-eight hours."

James swore, before almost falling off his chair. Quickly righting himself, he stood and rushed out the door.

Albus followed at a more sedate pace. Seeing his brother take the left at the end of the corridor, he called after him, "What? No 'thank you'?"

The '_fuck you_' that echoed down the hallway was all the thanks Albus needed.

He'd already hid James' own magical post-its, the advent of which had originally been Aunt Hermione's idea, naturally, so he couldn't simply replace them. And if he tried to dog-ear the pages with the specially made tags they'd simply unfold themselves. Just another part of Albus' requested design. He didn't think James would be smart enough to simply dog-ear the pages on either side of the ones he himself had tagged. If he was, then Albus thought it would be a well-deserved victory for his brother. And yet, he was doubtful of it.

It was a good thing Father had approved of his methods, if only because it provided some incentive for James to get his homework done, and for the most part, to do it all on his own.

Laughing to himself, Albus turned around and headed back into the library, picking up a few of the books he wanted to read and following James' advice, at least in part.

Keeping an eye out for other wandering relatives who had nothing better to do than bother him, Albus stealthily headed out into the garden, to 'enjoy some sunshine and fresh air,' as James had put it.

It was a large garden, even by Wizarding standards, especially with its very own Quidditch Pitch, which had been modeled mostly on Hogwarts'. If Hogwarts was their father's childhood home, then the Quidditch Pitch had most definitely been his playground. And their father had always wanted nothing but the best for them; a concept which extended from education, to clothes, to food and games and almost anything a child could dream of.

Some might call them spoiled, but they knew, thanks to their father, just how lucky they were to have all that they did. They took none of it for granted.

Sitting in the shade of one of the larger oaks a little way off the main beaten track, Albus took a moment to enjoy hearing nothing but the sounds of nature.

Like most Wizarding gardens, theirs was also mostly wild, overgrown in some places even, and full of magical creatures that one most certainly wouldn't see in a Muggle's. Unless one knew to look, of course.

If there was one creature that was sorely lacking on the grounds though, it was snakes. The ones who had made the place their home were frustratingly reclusive, meaning that Albus was very rarely given the chance to converse with them. Whenever their father took them to the zoo, Albus made sure to sneak off to say hello to them. The ones kept in Muggle sanctuaries weren't as interesting to speak with however, once you'd had the chance to chat with a magical snake. Their intellect was superior, as well as their grasp of human concepts, constructs and thought processes.

Albus would liken it to the difference between talking to a very small child, as opposed to a well-read adult. Still, it beat not being able to speak with anyone at all.

Opening his book to where he'd last gotten to, Albus relaxed into his favourite niche in the garden, intending to read for as long as he possibly could before he was undoubtedly interrupted yet again. The only person who would know where to find him would be his father, not only because he was the only person privy to Albus' secret hideout, but also due to the fact that he kept in his study his own version of the Marauder's Map made especially for the Manor, primarily for security purposes.

He'd be lucky to get in a good few hours of reading in the meantime. But as they say, hope springs eternal.

ۍ

It looked as though luck was on Albus' side as he managed to read _Mutatis Mutandis_, a rather informative theoretical piece detailing the creation of new spells through the modification of existing arithmancy, the whole way through. It was surprisingly ahead of its time, given that it had been written at the turn of the last century. Comparatively, even some of the newer texts on the subject failed to adequately build upon a good deal of the author's more innovative ideas.

He was a fair portion into _Specificatio_, one of the random texts on transfiguration that was lying about and had looked interesting enough, when his father appeared.

"Al?" He called, gently but expectantly.

"I'm here," Albus replied immediately, collecting his books and standing to meet him.

"You shouldn't be reading so late out here, it's far too dark for your eyes," Harry chided as he stopped before his son, holding his hands out for Albus to put the books in them. "What do we have here, this time?"

Albus shrugged, "The usual."

"Ah, but the usual for you, is by far quite different to everyone else," Harry teased affectionately.

"Rose recommended half of them, you know," Albus complained.

Harry laughed. "Yes, well, Rose is another story altogether, wouldn't you agree?"

Albus couldn't help but smile at that. It was true. While they had a lot in common, their thirst for knowledge being one such trait, they were still rather different, even in their similarities.

Take for example the fact that Rose's thirst for knowledge was borne from a desire simply to know things; how things worked, why they did so, why they didn't otherwise, whereas for Albus, his thirst for knowledge was focused more heavily on the practical implementation of his knowledge, never simply for the sake of knowing.

As far as Albus was concerned, it was no good knowing things if you had no use for that knowledge, beyond being able to simply tell people about it. This was part of the reason why Albus was so very keen to finally have his wand. So at long last he would be able to put into practice all he had learned thus far. And to test what was lacking in his knowledge, since to date, his knowledge for the most part remained theoretical.

But soon, very soon, he'd be able to rectify that. For the moment it was an annoyance that Albus could endure; for the greater good.

"Come on, then," Harry prodded, taking Albus' hand as they walked, as he balanced the pile of tomes in the other, "dinner's about ready to be served."

There were still some things here that made the waiting easier.

ۍ

To Be Continued…

* * *

**Another Word from the Author:** Right. So. That was that. Let me know what you thought, you know the drill, people. In the meantime, allow me to meander off in search of all the threads that tie my stories together and to familiarize myself with them once more. Once again, your continued support and patience, and even those helpful little prompts of, 'it's been awhile,' are much_ly_ appreciated.

So, until next time!

Kamikumai.


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